Roam: Chapter 10
Chapter 10 Characters * Venitsal the Deserter * Black Benabba * Radamal Locations * Underbelly Tunnels * Squirrel Glades Contents Black Benabba “For fuck’s sake,” Ben snarled as he brought his fingers away from his knee, feeling the familiar stickiness of blood. “I fucking hate it down here.” “Up here,” corrected Ven’s voice, ahead of him. “Fuck you,” said Ben, feeling around the slick stone walls for a handhold. Somebody stumbled into his back. “Fuck off!” he yelled blindly at whoever it was as he shakily rose to his feet, his knee stinging as it bent and unbent. He hoped it didn’t have any dirt in it. He had seen men die from less. “Keep moving, arsehole,” responded the stranger, or perhaps the person behind them. “We got places to be.” “If you could see, friend,” Ven said before Ben could swear again, “you’d be a little less curt with my associate Ben here, let me assure you.” “If any of us could fucking see…” Ben muttered, grasping at the wall, his sandals shuffling tentatively at the disgusting floor, dislodging who-knew-what into nobody-wanted-to-know-what. “I don’t care if he’s Semural himself,” came another voice. “This ain’t no place for tourists.” Ven’s hand clasped around Ben’s shoulder – well, around as much of it as it could, at least – and gave a squeeze. Don’t get disturbed by this shit; the faster we move, the sooner we’re out. “For fuck’s sake,” Ben said, taking another unsteady step. There were two ways of getting topside: the expensive (and illegal) way was to go all the way down a ladder from the Underbelly, paying whoever owned it too much, then waiting in the mile-long queue for a lift with the groundhuggers for too long – sometimes a couple of days – or bribing a soldier too much to let you push in earlier. The soldiers were on rotation, of course, so respectable businessmen like Ven and Ben had had to court a good number of men over the years to ensure reliable access to Roam in good time, and that was before the puffed-up guardsmen at the city’s gates even came into the picture. Every so often, a Marshal or Sentinel or some other bleached toga would make a big stink about corruption and fairness and the queue-jumping would stop for a couple of months, but it always came back. It was just a part of the fabric of Roam; the city couldn’t function without it, just like the Underbelly. The magistrates who fought the “corruption” got to continue to make the same speeches decrying the intractable disease of Roam and the people who relied on it could vote for them safe in the knowledge that nothing would really change. Everyone was happy, and Roam kept on walking. The other, more expensive (and more illegal) way onto Roam was through these fucking tunnels, hewn up through the very body of Roam-Beast itself. Access was an even more lucrative business than the ladders to the Underbelly, and ownership of tunnels was a constant source of gang warfare in the Underbelly, and – to a lesser extent – on Roam, with untold numbers of inconvenient corpses removed from consideration with a discreet shove over the edge of the World-Beast. The tunnels themselves were graveyards, with not-infrequent cave-ins, requiring the digging of new diversions around the crushed and entombed, or sometimes entirely new routes to content for. Or, on more terrifying occasions, there were washouts. Ven could feel the slow, moist wind of the tunnel leaving condensation on his face. When they had started, that wind had been against their back. He didn’t like to think about it, or the puddles and the slimy walls, or the distant rumbling from Roam-Beast’s liquid core. The darkness, the screams and the powerlessness as those behind him were pumped into his back, all limbs and terror, then the light. And the drop. He didn’t like to think about it, which was just part of why he hated these fucking tunnels. He wasn’t too keen on Venitsal’s preoccupation with Norbil, either, and not just because it had brought him here. The kid had been gone what? A day? Ben had overslept longer that on occasions. There was no good outcome from this, as far as Ben could see. They were either wasting their time and putting themselves in harm’s way because he was alive, or wasting their time and putting themselves in harm’s way because he was dead. The boy was a good kid, and Ben certainly didn’t want him to be dead, but he had no idea what Ven was possibly hoping for here. Their job was to find escaped slaves. How were they looking for a very un-escaped slave and their junior associate all of a sudden? It wasn’t like Ven was even going to have the closure of finding a body. No murdered worth their salt left a body on a World-Beast, unless they had a message to send. And anybody who knew Ven knew that he wouldn’t listen to a message, just as he wouldn’t listen to Ben. Ben’s job, as ever, was to protect Ben from himself. And Roam kept on walking. “Light up ahead,” said Ven. “Nearly there, mate.” “Fuck off,” grunted Ben, his knee throbbing as he braced himself against the ceiling and clambered over a low pile of loose rocks he had scouted out with his toes. His sandal landed right in a fucking puddle. “Fuck. Fuck!” “Shh!” came a stranger’s voice from up ahead. “Eat my dick,” Ben hurled back, shaking his foot to clear out the water trapped against the leather. “Shut the fuck up! Everyone!” said another voice. “Patrol topside.” “You’re fucking joking,” Ben scoffed. “Somebody shut him up,” came a voice from behind. “Or we’re all going to be heading back.” “Or be stuck in here,” came another. “If anybody fucking touches me,” Ben said calmly and clearly, “you’re all going to be stuck in here. Forever.” “Shh!” Ben grabbed Ven’s wrist just as it approached his shoulder again through the darkness, squeezing it hard enough to let his friend know just how serious he was about that threat. Sometimes he needed a bit of rough love to hear what Ben was saying. Ben let go, trying to find some position that he might be comfortable while they waited for the queue in the tunnel to start moving again. This tunnel, like most, came out at the rear of Roam, somewhere behind the sacred Squirrel Glades beyond the Tail Gate. The Marshals of the Walls sent out regular patrols to locate and seize any active tunnels and fill them in or block them up – quite understandably, given the quite serious threat they represented to the city’s security, though Ben could not imagine the desperation that would require an army to attempt to fight their way up out of this darkness. There were always rumours of secret tunnels that led up into the city itself, into cellars of houses within the walls, but Ben didn’t believe for a moment that anyone could have kept them secret for long. People always wanted to assign some nefarious intelligence to the people doing better than themselves, for reasons Ben couldn’t even guess at. In a former life, Ben had spent a lot of time around those better people topside, and most of them lacked the wherewithal to conspire with their own self, let alone scheme with others. “Clear!” came a call, repeated down the line, followed again by the sound of scandals scraping. The wet wind had subtly changed direction again at some point, breathing again on the back of Ben’s neck. The light growing closer was grey and dirty, gleaming off the walls as Ben’s eyes tried to adjust. He glanced around at the travellers behind him, enjoying their blinking recognition of him as Black Benabba, once the most famous gladiator of all the Republic, or at least as a tall, fearsome Mughannean. He still had it, and he still had the toothy, snarling grin (and the cockily raised eyebrow) which had been the last thing so many of his challengers had seen in the Stadium. Ven had gotten a little ahead, nearly at the mouth of the tunnel when Ben turned back around. “Ven!” he called out, trying his best to catch up, but hampered by the uneven and slippery ground. “Wait, for fuck’s sake!” Ven didn’t slow down, turning out of sight beyond the end of the tunnel. Why was he being such a fucking idiot? Ben reached the end of the tunnel, and for a second was looking out onto nothing, the true ground with its hills and trees and escarpments far, far beneath him. Wispy morning mist was slipping over the edge of Roam-Beast above him, dying away in the air before him. Away to his left, the huge, gravity-defying tail of Roam thrust out into the sky. To his tight was a laughably narrow, foot-worn ledge and a rope ladder up into the fog. Venitsal’s feet were nearly at the top. “Ven!” Ben called up to him, trying not to lean out too far. Those behind had learned their lesson, and were keeping their distance. He heard raised voices from above, including Ven’s then suddenly the ladder shook violently, and his legs disappeared up and away. Ben waited a couple of fateful heartbeats for his friend’s body to come back down past him, twirling gracefully out of view, but it didn’t come. “Fuck,” said Ben, his fists clenching. He had said that this was stupid. He had fucking said. “Fuck you, Ven,” he said as he grabbed the rungs of the ladder and reluctantly began the climb up into harm’s way, if not certain death. “Fuck you, you stupid fucking prick. Fuck you.” “No, fuck you!” came a voice from above him, and then the fist into Ben’s jaw. Venitsal “You really are a stupid fucking prick,” said Radamal from above them. “I ‘gree, iffat helpsh a’ all,” said Ben from beside Venitsal. His lip had swollen up pretty gruesomely. Venitsal wished that he hadn’t looked over – he could feel the blood sloshing around inside his head. His eyeballs felt like they might burst. “If I concede the point,” said Venitsal, “can we agree to –” The rope went slack again, dropping Venitsal back down, then tautened just before his back thwacked against the flinty cliff-face of the edge of Roam, though not soon enough that his head didn’t connect with a curiously distant thud, throwing out into the sky what little air he had been able to gather into his lungs while he had been held more horizontally. His eyes blinked fuzzily, trying to make sense of the sky beneath the land. This wasn’t going well, partly because Radamal was a vicious moron. Some of the others were slightly less vicious, or slightly less moronic. None both. Venitsal glanced as best he could across at Ben, who was going through his own internal evaluation of the situation as he recovered from this fourth or fifth iteration, with Radamal’s enjoyment showing little sign of diminishing, judging from his braying hysterics. Venitsal knew that he wasn’t coming out particularly well in Ben’s reckoning. He owed the big man something big for this. The rope around Venitsal’s waist tightened painfully as Radamal’s henchmen pulled it around a tree, wrenching him up again around the pivot of his feet until he could see Radamal’s unwelcome visage over the lip of Roam-Beast once again. “You were saying?” his captor asked, his intentions clear on his face. Venitsal gave him a look, taking the opportunity to smuggle a couple of breaths as he refused to talk and give the hateful bastard what he craved. “Aw, come on, Venitsal, let us have our fun!” Venitsal chewed his lips as he attempted not to pout. This might have been a miscalculation. A bad hunch. “Do you know why everyone hates you, Ven?” Radamal squatted down onto his haunches, picking idly at the ropes around Venitsal’s feet with a bloodstained dagger. “It ain’t just that you don’t pay back what you owe. It’s like you think you’re above it all. Like you’re better than everyone – better than the rules even. I can see that Ben here knows exactly what I mean. That’s unfair, that, Ven. Why’s the poor Mugger gotta suffer for you being a stupid fucker?” Venitsal took a deep breath. “Look, Radamal, if you would just listen for –” Radamal shrugged helplessly and the world somersaulted again. As Venitsal’s mind swam to and fro, a memory dislodged from deep in the back of his head, of marching past a stable near Aedam – maybe? – or Oepheram in Crylalt, where the locals had tied down a young donkey and were cutting off its balls. The noise the stricken thing had made had been unearthly, and entirely unique in Venitsal’s experience until the sound of Radamal’s unadulterated glee now filed his woozy world. He gasped for air, squeezing his throbbing eyes shut, counting his heartbeats until the pinch of the rope at his waist began again. “Does he listen to you?” Radamal asked Ben as they were both hoisted to near-horizontal. “Iffee di’, d’you fink weeb bee here?” Ben said, spitting blood over his shoulder. “Shame,” Radamal scratched at this nose with his thumbnail. “We need to find someone he’ll listen to for him to learn any lessons. Like, I don’t know, don’t use tunnels owned by people you owe money to if you ain’t got the money to pay them back. What would it take for him to learn a lesson like that?” “Fuck the money,” said Venitsal. “I –” The rock that Radamal lobbed onto his chest was not big, but fuck did it hurt. Venitsal twisted every which way, his wrists screaming behind his back as his body instinctively attempted to avoid or block it. “Wrong answer,” frowned Radamal, suddenly serious. “Maybe you need to learn the hard way.” He stood up, spinning his dagger in his hand as he stepped over the ropes at Ben’s feet. “Fuck –” Venitsal gasped, realising that the rock had probably cracked a rib as he winced, his breath short. “Fuck’s sake, Radamal, that’s exactly what I’m here about.” Radamal squinted an eye and hurled his knife into the knot at Ben’s feet. The Mughannean wriggled in vain, hissing like a trapped beast, but the dagger stuck firmly in the morass of rope. No blood. “I don’t follow,” said Radamal. “Listen!” Venitsal shouted. Radamal placed a finger over his lips, giving Venitsal a disappointed look as he bent down to retrieve his dagger. If a guard patrol caught wind of their situation, it was pretty likely that all the ropes would have to go slack. “Listen,” Venitsal hissed at a lower volume. “We’re not here by accident.” “You’re here,” Radamal laughed, gesturing at their predicament with his blade, “on purpose?” “Not here, precisely,” Venitsal gasped, his rib complaining at inscrutable intervals, “but we used one of Common Gralbal’s tunnels to be sure of finding one of his men.” “How much does this suicidal idiot pay you?” Radamal asked Ben. “Not enough,” Venitsal pre-empted. “I suppose you’re short on funds?” Radamal picked up another rock, testing its weight in his hand. “The money is coming. Soon!” said Venitsal, his cheeks trembling hot. “I’ve just got a new job that’s going to make us all rich and happy.” “Oh, the promises I’ve heard from men hanging over the edge of the world,” Radamal lobbed the stone high in the air, and Venitsal could only watch as it grew, grew, and shot past his head, flicking his ear painfully as it fell to the ground below. He blew out the breath he had instinctively held. “Your boss isn’t going to be happy if you tank this opportunity,” Venitsal continued, his words running away from him a little. Juctor’s balls, did his rib hurt! “I need to talk to him.” “I’m not a messenger slave,” said Radamal, his nose twitching as he scowled down at Venitsal. “I have the leeway to make my own calls. And everything you’re saying now was stale months ago.” “I get that,” said Venitsal. “I hear you, I do, and I understand you, and I agree! I’ve overplayed my hand, and you’re well within your rights to do all of this, and more.” Ben’s eyes boggled, which was quite something, given their fairly boggled resting state. Radamal looked between his captives, then back over his shoulder at the unseen men holding the ropes, then back. “If nothing else, this is new,” he frowned, trying to discern Venitsal’s angle. “So, did you, or one of your similarly autonomous colleagues, apprehend my associate, Norbil?” said Venitsal, as calmly and clearly as he could manage. The edges of the world were going fuzzy – his world, that was, though the edges of Roam-Beast still harboured their eerie morning fog. “Who?” “Norbil. Blond? Young? Tallish?” “I have no idea who you are talking about.” “None of your men grabbed him, or left him shanked in an alley, or threw him over?” Radamal glanced back again, wordlessly conferring with those present. “Not knowingly,” shrugged Radamal. “He been mixing with a bad crowd? Worse than you, even?” “And Gralbal hasn’t put the word out to seize him or anything, to get at me?” “Come now, Ven, I know you think Roam strides to your drum, but you just ain’t that big of a deal to anyone but yourself and this sorry Mugger, I’m afraid, especially up here. Gralbal just don’t have that much of an imagination; if he wanted to hurt you, we know where to find you. And how to hurt you. It’s just not that high a priority, mate, unless you’re fucking stupid enough to pop your head up right out of our hole.” Venitsal made the mistake of trying to shake his head. He had to clench every muscle in his body to stop from lolling back beyond his power to lift his head again. “I need,” he said. His brain felt too heavy to think. “I need to see him. Common Gralbal.” “Join the queue,” scoffed Radamal. “He’s my patron and I have to sit around for hours while half the togas on the Companion Hill are ushered through to tongue his balls. And anyway, even if I was inclined to take you to him, he ain’t there. He’s got a busy schedule of ball-tonguing today, being a Bursar and all: first helping that cunt Hessal Varagy give those Chissie ambassadors a good lathering in the Senate, and then he’s attending some Familial dinner party this evening, where he hopes to still have enough spit left to grease up a decent run at Administrator in a couple of years.” Venitsal had been a soldier long enough that crudeness slid right off his ears, neither amusing nor intimidating him. His insides had dropped away in a fashion that no amount of inverted hanging or torture could match. Norbil was in trouble. He knew that in every part of him, but he felt further away from knowing why than ever. “So, perhaps you could come back again tomorrow, and we can do this all again?” grinned Radamal. “Go fuck yourself,” said Venitsal. The world spun, and he took a perverse reassurance in the certainty of the rock face thudding into the back of his head. Category:Chapter Category:Black Ben POV Chapter Category:Venitsal POV Chapter